


Whumptober 2020 - 01 - Left Hanging

by Celticgal1041



Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Category: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:48:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26759002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticgal1041/pseuds/Celticgal1041
Summary: When he’d woken from his impromptu nap, he’d already been strung up like a pig in a slaughterhouse.
Series: Whumptober 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949548
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Whumptober 2020 - 01 - Left Hanging

His shoulder protested once more as the gentle sway of his body pulled unnaturally at the muscles and tendons in his arms and upper back. Tipping his head back, his eyes skittered upwards, forgetting for a moment that his watch had been taken, not to mention the minor fact that there was no way he’d be able to see the timepiece anyway even if it was still attached to his wrist. Groaning, he let his head drop back to his chest, silently chastising himself for his slippery memory.

He’d been struck on the back of the head when he’d been taken; at least, he assumed he had, given the incessant throbbing inside his skull. In reality, he really wasn’t certain of much other than the fact that he was in trouble.

When he’d woken from his impromptu nap, he’d already been strung up like a pig in a slaughterhouse. The comparison made him cringe, but he couldn’t reject its accuracy, the big difference being that said unfortunate animal knew its fate, while he still had no clue what his captors wanted with him.

Sticky eyes had opened on a dimly lit space, and his close examination of it over the past several hours suggested a smaller farm building of some sort. Mouldy hay still covered portions of the dirt floor, while rotting wooden slats merged overhead to form a v-shaped roof just high enough to make sure he could only touch the ground with his toes.

During his first hour, he’d tugged at the shackles restraining him, trying to exploit any potential weakness in the old, iron bracelets. His efforts had yielded him nothing more than a matched set of raggedly torn wrists, with tracks of blood drying tackily on his upheld arms.

Next, he’d tried shouting, certain that whoever had taken him must still be nearby, possibly trying to soften him up enough so he’d answer their questions once they appeared. That, too, had failed. Not only were his mouth and throat too dry to yell for more than a few minutes, but his position compressed his chest, restricting his ability to draw a proper breath.

“Crap,” he wheezed as his tenuous balance deserted him again, transferring his full weight suddenly to his arms and shoulders where he could practically hear sinew tearing in two.

He squeezed his eyes closed as he focused on his breathing, never quite able to draw enough air to satisfy his body’s demands. ‘You’re not suffocating,’ he sternly reminded himself, forcing a calm that he knew was his only road to survival.

Although he wasn’t a patient man by nature, he’d had no choice but to wait for someone to show up, resigning himself to the fact that he wasn’t going to be able to free himself without help. Trying to distract himself, he’d scanned the floors and walls of his prison, looking for any clue as to his captors’ identities.

When the pounding in his head had him seeing double and practically crying in pain, he’d closed his eyes and drawn inwards, thinking back on his BUD/S training with Nuzo, and the strategies he’d learned to deal with torture when in enemy hands. As he replayed one event after another in his mind, the pain in his body grew until he found himself too distracted to focus on anything else.

“Son of a…,” Thomas gasped, not even having enough breath to finish swearing as a streak of fire seemed to flare hotly across his upper back. When the spike of pain had passed, he blinked several times, attempting to get the sweat out of his eyes. The building he was in had practically no ventilation, and between the hot Hawaiian sun and the exertion of his position, Magnum was pretty much drenched.

“Pr’bly dehydr’td,” he murmured to himself, chalking up yet another woe for his collection and wondering how much longer he’d be literally left hanging.

“Sucks,” he pushed out between dry, cracked lips, feeling completely miserable and more than a little sorry for himself. It wasn’t that he’d never been kidnapped before, but there had always been an obvious reason for his captivity. This time it seemed that whoever had taken him had simply strung him up and forgotten about him, leaving Thomas with an uncomfortable new realization – there might not be anyone coming for him.

His stomach flipped unhappily at the thought. While he might appear confident and easygoing, there was a well of doubt living deep inside. It was from here that his doubts blossomed, reminding him of his many flaws. Too needy; always asking for favours; not smart enough, fast enough, or good enough; and completely undeserving of the men he called “brother”. After all, why else would the love of his life have betrayed him and handed him over to the enemy in Afghanistan?

After enduring 18 months in the Korengal, and the numerous trips to the pit that he’d never expected to survive, this was it. He would succumb to dehydration or heat exhaustion, or one of too many other horrible ways to die, and his friends would never know what had happened to him.

“God, no,” he moaned out, fresh moisture springing to his eyes despite believing he had none left in his body.

He let his head fall against one arm, no longer caring that it placed extra pressure on the already overtaxed limb. His eyelids slipped closed and his mind followed, falling into a daze between consciousness and not, and completely missing when the world around him came back to life.

First, it was the sound of engines being driven hard, followed by tires screeching as they came to an abrupt stop. Next were the slammed doors and pounding feet, as several people piled out of vehicles and crashed through the flimsy door of Thomas’ prison. Several choice swearwords followed as Magnum was swarmed, Rick and TC both taking a side to hold their friend’s weight, while Katsumoto looked for something to stand on.

Within minutes, the P.I. was free and lying insensate on the ground outside. “We need all the water we have,” Rick barked at Katsumoto, who motioned to a uniformed officer to get whatever they had in their cars. 

“Ambulance is 10 minutes out,” the detective replied, his unspoken question hanging in the air.

“Yeah, he’ll be okay,” Rick replied, letting the man know Magnum’s condition, while dire, wasn’t immediately life-threatening.

TC finished undressing their friend and then reached for one of the water bottles that had just arrived. Swiftly removing the cap, he proceeded to soak Magnum’s clothes before covering the man with the wet fabric in an effort to cool him down. The cold must have felt far more intense to the unconscious man, and he shifted his head unhappily at the sensation.

“Hey, Thomas, you’re okay,” Rick consoled, the palm of his hand pressed gently but firmly against his friend’s overly warm cheek. “We need to bring your temp down a bit,” he went on, hoping for a bit of lucidity from the other man. “Here,” he said as he tipped a water bottle to Magnum’s lips. “Try drinking a little.”

The first bit of water trickled into the P.I.’s mouth and he swallowed tentatively, the liquid immediately bringing relief to his dry, scratchy throat. When Rick pulled the bottle away, Thomas groaned in protest, thoughtlessly trying to reach for the bottle with his right hand.

“Arrgh!” he cried out as the pain in his shoulder and arm flared hotly.

“Hey, hey, Thomas, it’s okay,” Rick soothed, his hand now resting softly against Magnum’s chest. TC in the meantime had placed both hands on Magnum’s forearms, holding his limbs in place to prevent the man unintentionally hurting himself again.

Several long seconds and then a minute passed, Thomas panting against the pain that seemed to emanate from everywhere. Finally, his breathing slowed, and he pried open his eyes, taking in his friends’ concerned faces. “That sucked,” he gasped out, soft grins appearing on both men’s expressions.

“Yeah, I bet it did,” TC agreed. The larger man caught the motion of Rick’s head, indicating the approaching ambulance. “You ready to let the medical professionals take a look at you?”

Thomas’ breathing increased in obvious distress, prompting Rick to again place his hand on the man’s chest. “None of that, Tommy,” he said evenly, keeping his tone even and low. “You know we’ll be right there with you every step of the way.”

Across from Wright, TC nodded. “No way are you getting rid of us that easily.”

A flash of grief passed over Magnum’s features, prompting his friends to look at one another in confusion. “I…” Thomas began, his breathing once more laboured but slower than it had been. “I didn’t think anyone would find me.” The words were spoken so softly, the men almost wondered if they’d heard correctly, but the expression on the former SEAL’s face assured them that they had.

Squeezing Magnum’s forearms where he still held them, TC reiterated, “I told you, we’re not that easy to get rid of.” The men waited for several seconds until Thomas’ gaze met theirs and he gave the smallest of nods in understanding.

His grin returning, Rick added, “Besides, when have we ever left you hanging?”

TC’s groan mixed with Magnum’s, but the faint smile on Thomas’ face spoke of gratitude and not pain.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to AZGirl for proofing; all remaining mistakes are mine. 
> 
> This story was based on the day 1 prompt: Let's hang out sometime: waking up restrained / shackled / hanging
> 
> Thanks for reading and I'd love to hear your thoughts if you're so inclined!


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